“Well, now tell me ten hundred times,” replies the young man coolly, and attempts to draw from the lady’s wrist a huge and remarkable bracelet.
This uncommon ornament consists of a great ruby-eyed gold snake which coils around the lady’s arm and which is pierced through every coil by a platinum, diamond-hilted sword, an exact model of the Sword which hangs on the staircase.
“You tell me, Sonny, for a change,” suggests the lady.
“Velly well,” replies the boy…. “Vere was once a Daddy and a hobberell gweat Thnake always bovvered him and followed him about and wouldn’t let him gone to thleep and made him be ill like he had eaten too much sweets, and the doctor came and gave him lotths of meddisnin. Then he had to wun away from the Thnake, but it wunned after him, and it wath jutht going to kill him when Mummy bwoughted the Thword and Daddy killed the Thnake all dead. And I am going to have the Thword when I gwow up, but vere aren’t any more bad Thnakes. They is all good now and Daddy likes vem and I likes vem. Amen.”
“I never said Amen, when I told you the story, Sonny,” remarks the lady.
“Well you can, now I have tolded you it,” permits her son. “It means bus[[32]]—all finished. Mitthis Beaton thaid tho. And when I am as big as Daddy I’m going to be the Generwal of the Queenth Gweyth and thay ‘Charge!’ and wear the Thword.”
Lucille de Warrenne here smothers conversation in the manner common to worshipping mothers whose prodigies make remarks indicative of marvellous precocity, in fact absolutely unique intelligence.
[32] Hindustani—enough, finished, complete.
EPILOGUE.
Is it well, O my Soul, is it well?
In silent aisles of sombre tone
Where phantoms roam, thou dwell’st apart
In drear alone.
Where serpents coil and night-birds dart
Thou liest prone, O Heart, my Heart,
In dread unknown.
O Soul of Night, surpassing fair,
Guide this poor spirit through the air,
And thus atone …
This sad Soul, searching for the light….
O Soul of Night, enstarréd bright,
Shine over all.
Enforce thy right to fend for us
Extend thy power to fight for us
Raise thou night’s pall.
Ensteep our minds in loveliness
In all sweet hope and godliness
Give guard o’er all …
This brave Soul striving in stern fight….
Thou soul of Night, thou spirit-elf,
Rise up and bless.
Help us to cleanse in holiness
Show how to dress in saintliness
Our weary selves,
Expurge our deeds of earthiness
Expunge desires of selfliness
Rise up and bless …
This strong Soul dying in such plight….